Somewhere In My Lifetime
The next morning wasn't all that pleasant. She woke up late, and even though those extra few minutes of sleep were precious, her feet were still vibrating from standing around for eight hours the previous night. And on top of it all, it was raining. standing over the sink she brushed her teeth, pulled her hair into a messy bun, keeping it up with a wooden chopstick she 'borrowed' from some restaurant she went to a long time ago when she could afford it. She pulled on a pair of old loose sweat pants, a white tank top, and a hoodie sweater, all of which had come from a successful good-will hunt. It was amazing what you could buy with a couple of dollars from the tip jar.
She ran all the way to school, hood on her head, her worn sneakers slapping against cement. And even then, the bell rang before she could pull the giant door open. She cursed, pulling harder, and almost fell over when a hand from behind her reached out and yanked the door open. She didn't look back, didn't have time to wonder about the 'who's' or 'why's' all she could do was hurry to her locker, shove in the uniform and books, get the ones she needed, and fly up the staircase to her math class.
At the door, she glanced in. Everything was good, the teacher had her back to the door, writting some equation on the board, and no one seemed to notice her. She pushed the bag up higher on her back, and walked in, barely making a sound. She was almost at her seat, when some smartass noticed her, clearing his throat loud enough to make everyone turn around, and notice her. Including the teacher. She cursed in her head, sinking into the seat next to the window, awaiting yet another late speech.
The teacher took a deep breath, and started off, about rules and responsibilities, about how distruptive it was for everyone, about this and that and everything else and all she could do was nod along and sprout some bullshit about taking care of a cousin she didn't have. After a while the teacher seemed to get bored of lecturing her and listening to her halfbaked excuses, waved her hand and went back to the board. She blew out a breath of relief. What a great start to the day.
She didn't like math. She didn't want to learn math. But apparetly, she would always need math, so she was stuck taking it. It was one of the worst classes. She pulled her hood farther down her face and glared outside at the pouring rain. What on earth was wrong with the weather?
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Last class of the day was art. Art, she could handle. She loved her art teacher. He was a nice elderly man, with white hair and sincere blue eyes. Everyday she came to the art room for lunch because she had no where else to go. She would sit with him, talk about work, and he would tell her about everywhere he's been. Every summer, he'd take a vacation to someplace she's never heard of before, though that could be due to her minor knowledge of geography, but she liked to think it was because he was just that strange. She would trade him her muffins for something he'd bring. He would reassure her that he loved them, and she would smile gratefully when he'd hand her his homemade sandwhich.
The time would fly by, and she'd be off to her classes, while he'd greet his whole class of students. She loved the art room. All over the walls were pictures upon pictures of such diversity, it was astounding. There were pictures of beautiful people, of flowers, of landscapes. Beautiful portraits of the stars and the moon, and it glowed. The art room was on the top floor, where the sun roof was, so despite the season, everything seemed so bright.
She's contemplated dropping out of school before, after all it would've been so much simpler to just work. But she remembered her mother, the beautiful woman who's always had something kind to say about everyone, who always wanted her to finish shool, and after everything that's happened, she just couldn't do it. So she stayed.
She sat at the back of the class, drawing the back steps of the caffee she's worked in for a few years now. She was working on this for a while now, but her art work was the only thing she could possibly afford to decorate her appartment with. The teacher smiled her way as he walked by, commenting his compliments her way, and she half smiled back, still hiding under her hood.
The bell went just when she was about to start drawing Kikyou, and she jumped up, stuffing her pencils back in her bag, and grabbing the unfinished picture, hurring to her locker.
It was still raining when she ran out the rarely used back doors of the school, holding tightly onto the straps of her backpack. The puddles were pretty deep, and her sneakers were soaked. She shuddered from the cold wind, and prayed she wouldn't get a cold now. It was almost summer, what was it with these stupid weather changes?
The cafe hovered in the distance, and she slowed down, giving her feet some time to rest before starting her shift. When she knocked on the back door, Kikyou opened the door, dragging her inside and out of the rain. She gave a quick smile, pulling her in the back and pulling off her hoodie, shoving the white shirt over her tanktop, and tying the half skirt around her waist. Her hair was a mess, and Kikyou pulled out the chop stick and assembled it into a neat bun with an emergency elastic she always had around her wrist. In five minutes, she was ready for work.
She glued the practiced smile on her face as she took an order from the elderly man, hoping for the next few hours to fly by so she could go home and sleep. It was friday, and she was exhausted. She looked around the cafe, noticing all the usual people. No one new ever came around.
She smiled when the chihuahua-lady handed her a bill and left without waiting for her change. She supposed she could have had a much worse job, or no job at all. She didn't look up when the bell over the door rang, signaling a new customer, being too preoocupied witth keeping a stuborn lock of hair from pocking her in the eye. She used to have bangs, but with her hectic lifestyle, she kept forgetting to cut them, and eventualy they grew out to the point of being long enough to be tied back with the rest of her hair. And now, this stuborn piece of hair was ruining her imaculite hairstyle! She blew it out of her face, only to have it land on her nose a second later. In her war-against-the-evil-hair she didn't notice the teenage boy aproach the counter until she heard someone chuckling far to close to not be looking at her. Her startled green eyes shot up, meeting his strange hazel ones. And that wasn't the strangest thing yet. His long, long hair was silver. She blamed it on the light, or the strange dye job, but it looked silver. He smiled, noticing her fascination with his hair, and said "It's the result of a bad dare. Turns out 'permanent' hair dye really doesn't wash off."
She blushed, knowing that she stared, and clicked back into her cashier mode. "So, what would you like?" She didn't look up at him, looking anywhere but his face. Like his hat that sat on top of that strangely silver head of his. Or his black shirt and dark jeans.
He wanted a coffee, and she gave him one, watching as he walked away and sat in the back of the cafe, where he could still see her. She looked around seeing no more customers, slumped against the counter, and glared at the evil hair that fell across her face again. As one last attempt she blew at the hair again, watching it fly up, and land back down, still on her face. But she could swear, she could hear him chuckle, somewhere in the back. And she smiled.
When it was time for her break, she snuck back outside on her steps, and looked around trying to memorize everything for her art project.
She was surprized when he showed up. The weird guy with silver hair. At first, she saw his sneakers. And, gasp, they were just like her own. Then his jeans, and black shirt. The silver hair, the hazel eyes, and the hat that for some reason just didn't go.
She couldn't say anything, and he didn't seem to mind. He walked over with a simple grace that she could never imitate. Sitting down next to her on the dirty steps, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Hi" he said, quietly.
"Hi," she answered back. And they sat there just like that for all of her precious fifteen minutes of breaktime, not even sneaking back to get a muffin, and not noticing when Kikyou saw them together, smiled, and snuck back inside.
When one of the waitresses from inside called her name, she got up, smiled at him, and jumped back inside, leaving him by himself on the back steps of her sanctuary, smiling in the setting sun.
She worked the rest of the day with a smile on her face, and when she went home she didn't notice her tired feet, or her heavy backpack. All she knew was that today she met a boy with silver hair and hazel eyes.
She didn't know his name or his age. She didn't know where he was from or where he was going. But she knew, she KNEW him. Somehow, there was this feeling. She didn't question it, didn't wonder. She just - knew.
The moon seemed brighter then, the wind not so cold. It was the moment. The flash when everything was okay. The brighter time. And for the first time in a while, she lifted up her head, and smiled. And it was real. For now, everything was okay. Right now, she could take the world, head on.
All because of the boy with the silver hair and golden eyes.